


Was it Worth it?

by CannibalKats



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 13:08:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4020958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CannibalKats/pseuds/CannibalKats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a short piece about Fenris and Dahl Hawke during Inquisition.  Bonus Papa Fenris</p>
            </blockquote>





	Was it Worth it?

Fenris had been back in Lothering a week, but there had been no new letters, nothing vague and reassuring from Hawke, and nothing elaborately overwhelming with a half assed disclaimer from Varric. The latter concerned him more than anything. Malcolm seemed to double in size every time he returned, and the boy missed his mother more with each passing day. Excitement waned on the child’s face each time his father returned alone.

At first she’d gone to Haven in disguise, she’d bring news to Varric, gather information on the budding Inquisition, and if there was anything she should perhaps be seeing to personally. Sometimes she took the child. _It’s safe Fen, and no one expects the champion of Kirkwall to have a baby on her hip._ He always consented.

She carried guilt about the conclave, she hadn’t slept after news of the explosion until she’d heard from Varric. Still even the loss of strangers pained her and many evenings he would find her softly crying into their sleeping sons hair, could she have prevented it? Fenris did his best to comfort her but it was beyond him to answer.

He’d known when he saw that Warden, whatever semblance of normality they’d had, however punctuated with vigilantism, were coming to a close. Malcolm had weaned, and they’d made their way towards Crestwood having heard the rebel Templars there were capturing mages and selling them to slavers.

“I have to help him,” she threw her hands up, the blanket they’d been huddling under near the dying fire fell off their shoulders. The injured warden grunted and shifted under their other blanket. She’d given him a tea made of herbs to make him sleep.

Fenris hadn’t spoken; he slowly rose and added a few small logs to keep the fire going.

“Look at him Fenris, if there’s a problem in the wardens,” she trailed off with a sigh and tugged the blanket back over her shoulders. “Maker what if Carver’s involved?”

He’d snorted then, he hadn’t meant to and her focus had narrowed onto him. He could feel her eyes boring into the space between his shoulders. “Carver is fine; you had a letter last week.”

“Still,“ he heard the rustle behind him and then her arms had wrapped around his waist pulling him back from his crouch by the fire.

She was so small, even had she been an elf she would have been considered short. He turned then and tucked her head under his chin. She held the blanket around them and mumbled into the wool padding he still wore for warmth.

“Dahlia, go.” His tone had been dry but he was smiling. “I’ll send word to Varric, certainly we can find passage to Skyhold.”

She stared up at him, her big eyes blinking, mouth moving while she tried to find the words. Finally she asked “What about Mal?”

“I’m a poor substitute for you, but between Orana and I, he’ll manage.” He’d bent then and kissed her on the forehead. “Perhaps it will help settle your mind after everything that’s happened at Haven.”

She had squeezed him tighter then, in a bear hug that forced the air from his lungs. “Promise me you won’t do anything too dangerous, you won’t have a healer with you.”

He chuckled into her hair. “If you promise me not to do anything stupid.”

They’d laughed then, Hawke losing her balance and taking them both down wrapped in the blanket. They’d slept soundly that night curled around one another. The next morning they moved the Warden somewhere safe to recuperate. Fenris had left her there with the injured Warden who’d recognized them from Kirkwall.

He’d made his way back to the rebuilt Lothering, wrote to Varric best he could and gathered up a schedule of wagons hauling goods to Skyhold, the newly discovered Inquisition fortress. She’d returned a week and a half behind him, only a day until the next wagon. _Time enough_ she’d said with a look in her eye that said she’d leave right then if she could.

She’d held him tightly in her sleep, head rested on his stomach, arm wrapped around his hips.   They’d seen her off the next morning; he kissed her on the nose and tied a swath of silver fabric around her wrist. She’d lifted his sleeve and kissed the tattered red scarf he still wore. They’d embraced, child nestled between them foreheads rested together. _Come home_ , he’d whispered into little Malcolm’s tuft of hair as he’d watched her walk away. He’d cradled and jostled the boy about, keeping him quiet and happy until he could no longer see the wagon.

A week later he was off again after slavers, never staying away longer than 6 weeks, always staying in Lothering a week, waiting for news, more often from Varric than Hawke, never fully taking either’s word at face value. Her last letter had said there would be a confrontation; she’d said she’d be careful, promised not to be a hero.   
  
He’d left in the night, grief and rage eating at him. No one should be made to deal with him like this, not when there were slavers on the coast needing killing. _I promise, no more champion, I’m a mother not a hero, I know that._ Her words echoed in his mind. _It won’t be like with Meredith, or the Arishock, I’ll be safe, I’ll stay back._ But he’d heard news of the warden movements, and he knew about the dragon, or archdemon _maker which is worse?_

Malcolm stirred in the bed beside him. A soft grunt and the noise of a thoroughly soggy thumb broke the silence of the night. He slept better with the weight of the toddler on her side of the bed despite being woken up most morning by a tiny fist in his face. Fenris rolled onto his side reaching out for the boy to pull him closer and watch him sleep.

The bed had sunk more than he anticipated and he tumbled in to a thicker body than expected. Fenris cursed under his breath pushing himself up and a flurry of pillows and quilts, Lyrium tattoos glowing to life as reflected light flashed in his eyes.

“Missed you too, Love,” Hawke propped herself up on her elbows and smiled at him through a thick layer of road dirt and tangled windblown hair.

“Dahlia,” He whispered her name as if to ward off her ghost.

“Fenris,” she deepened her voice and added a warbling usually reserved for ghost stories. “I put Malcolm in the nursery with Ripley on guard, I hope he doesn’t get mad not waking up where he fell asleep.” She joked but Fenris could see the regret behind it.

“It’s done then?”

She shrugged and squinted in the dark. “No, but I’m done with it. Stroud’s gone, if not dead, and whatever’s left of the wardens, well Inquisitor Adaar will decide if they’re worth saving.”

Fenris reached out and pulled her close to him, she curled into him and he kissed the top of her head. “Did it help?”

Hawke reached out and traced the lines of his face with a dirt caked finger. “There was nothing I could have done at the conclave, except maybe die with the rest of them.”

“It was worth something then?”

“Hearing that Seeker chase Varric around shrieking was worth every bloody second,” she chuckled. “You _knew,_ ” she mocked in the worst Navarran accent he’d ever heard. “CRASH BANG SLAM! You _knew!”_ She buried her face in his side to muffle the snorts of laughter.


End file.
